


Red

by Pancakessonyourface



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pancakessonyourface/pseuds/Pancakessonyourface





	Red

 

_Drip._

A smile. Children are supposed to smile, yes. She was smiling from ear to ear just like any other child. The skirt of her blue dress was fanned out around her as she sat on her knees, her favorite toy in hand.

Children play with toys. She's just a normal child. Girl play with dolls, and boys play with toy soldiers. She held the long wooden handle of the ax as if it were a doll, stroking the iron head like any girl would with the hair of her doll.

_Drip._

She didn't like the dolls that her mother had bought her, so she found her own. It was propped up against the wall of the woodshed when she found it, all alone and long since forgotten; her father had gotten a new one. No one was playing with it anymore. It's very lonely when no one wants to play with you.

The doll was never give a name because it didn't need one. It didn't need a name to be her friend.

_Drip._

Friends talk to each other. She talked to her doll, but it never answered, of course; it's only a toy. She had plenty of other toys in which her mother had bought her, but she detested all of them. They weren't nice to her like the new doll. They reminded her of the kids at school with their bright colors and shiny appearances.

The other children at her school didn't talk to her. Her mother told her to make an attempt at being their friend, but they didn't deserve it. Cruel children are not worth the effort. She's not cruel like them.

_Drip._

The first time her mother found her with the doll, she scolded her and took it from her daughter, bringing it back to the woodshed. Silly. It made no sense to put it back where she could find it again. As soon as her mother left, she rescued her doll and apologized for the separation.

The second time her mother found her with the doll, she cried. Why couldn't God have given her a normal child? The daughter didn't understand. She is normal.

Her mother didn't take away her doll that time.

_Drip._

Betrayal. Friends don't hurt each other. She was running her fingers along the head of the doll, admiring the edges and curves. Her delicate hands had slid across the blade, succeeding in drawing crimson droplets from the tips of her fingers. The wound itself didn't hurt all that badly, more the perfidy of her only friend. She left the doll lying in the grass where they had been sitting, only to come back hours later, feeling guilty from abandoning her friend. It didn't really matter; it was an accident. Dolls don't hold grudges.

_Drip._

The rabbit certainly deserved it. It had made a mess of the garden her mother worked so hard tending to. He mother had been distraught gazing upon the stems of her plants strewn across the soil. She set a trap for the rabbit, capturing the rodent as it returned to cause more harm. Using the head of the doll, she brought it down on the trembling creature's head, killing it with a single strike. She brought the corpse into the house and using a knife from the kitchen, she painted.

Red was a beautiful color, she decided. No paint from an art set her mother bought for her could compare to the color found within a living, or rather nonliving, creature. A color first discovered from the accident with her friend. Her mother walked into the kitchen where she was painting, but instead of being pleased that the pest was gone, she cried again. She screamed even.

Her mother took away her doll and locked her in her bedroom with all of the disgusting toys.

_Drip._

Knocking. She heard fierce knocking from her bedroom. Voices from people she had never met before. Moments later the voices grew closer, coming towards her room. The door was unlocked and tall individuals in white coats slowly approached her, cooing her name as if she were a dog. She played nice, following them into the van and complying with their every order. Her mother didn't say anything to her before they took her away.

They took her to a large building containing more people with white coats. In fact, the entire building was white and relatively empty. She missed her friend. She missed red.

_Drip._

At the building, they were all feigning compassion. They didn't like her, she could tell. They thought it was bad that she liked red. They didn't like her friends. Being gentle and telling her it wasn't normal did nothing but aggravate her. She would never show it, though. 

She pretended to understand and learn what they were saying, but she couldn't care any less. Playing with the  _real_ dolls at the building and smiling pleasantly as if she were actually enjoying herself proved to be effective. 

They decided she was fixed and send her away. Not home, her family didn't want her anymore, but to a special family for special children. 

_Drip._

These people too proved to be faking their like of her. It didn't matter because she didn't like them either. She pretended too. 

They bought her toys and clothes she didn't want. Everything was fake. Nothing was how she wanted it. She wanted her old doll. She wanted red. 

Of course she continued to smile and allow them to hug her; to treat her like a normal child. She is a normal child, whether they want to see the truth or not. 

_Drip._

She found a new friend. A shiny new ax from the garage in which they had forgotten to hide after they purchased it. There were no animals to make art with. They lived in the city. She had to use what was available. 

The woman of the house was sitting on the couch, her back facing the head of the ax. It didn't take much force to kill the woman. A simple swipe and a push. There was more red than from the woman than the rabbit. The beautiful red color. 

Her dress, hands, the couch, and everywhere she could reach was painted with red. It was stunning. 

She sat in the pool of red, still dripping from the woman's neck. There was nothing more beautiful than the sight before her. He didn't see it that way. 

When the man of the house returned, he didn't speak. He couldn't move. His mouth was slightly agape from the slight before him. He didn't find it as beautiful as she. It didn't matter. It was beautiful to her. 

_Drip._

 

 


End file.
